


i think our story needs more pages

by dingletragedy



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Late Night Conversations, M/M, bumping into your ex, lil tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, uh yeah... Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/pseuds/dingletragedy
Summary: “You broke my heart, Ben.”“I broke my own, too.”or, the one where ben found callum, then lost him, and now, after three years, finds him again. a lot has changed in that time, but not everything.
Relationships: Ben Mitchell/Original Male Character(s), Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 26
Kudos: 133





	i think our story needs more pages

**Author's Note:**

> just another tumblr prompt that got out of hand (no idea what this is to be quite honest) (i need edit the shit outta this)
> 
> just know that we don't care for sam, ben's new very pointless boyfriend
> 
> title from you and me together song - the 1975

Lately,  the days have all seemed to blur together in gradients of a sun not quite risen, of raindrops sleek and threatening, of cruel winds and harsh chills. When night touches the air it’s bleek and heavy, dark skies pulling and cracking at a snail’s pace. Ben fills the days with work, with Lexi and Jay and Lola, and now, Sam too. The nights are spent treading from pub to bar to club. Sometimes with Sam, other times alone. 

Tonight it’s a club for a friend of Sam’s big three-zero birthday. Ben had thought up a hundred excuses, but his boyfriend wouldn’t settle for any of them, and he’s glad, he thinks, because to no one's surprise more than his own, he’s actually having a good time. Still, he finds himself in the bathroom, taking a minute. The water cupped in his palms has gone warm, and he switches the tap off slowly, rests his head against the cool mirror. The walls  _ hum-hum-hum _ with a song, a jumble of lyrics from a time he’s tried so hard to move on from. 

_ What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm fallin' again, I'm fallin' again, I'm fallin' _

The door creaks open.

Ben glances up.

A ghost stares back at him in the mirror.

“Ben?” Callum says, quiet.

_ It’s never sounded so cold. _

“What are you doing here?” Ben asks, hands braced either side of the sink. 

Callum looks startlingly young in that moment, even with the facial hair and the immaculately tailored suit hanging from his shoulders. He looks good, better than ever. He also looks mad that the first thing Ben’s said to him in what must be three years is something that sounds as hostile as  _ what are you doing here. _

“I’m attending the party,” Callum says, face set, “because I was invited.”

“Not really your scene though, is it?” Ben says, turning the tap on again to fill the silence.  _ Why are you here. Why am I here. Shit. _

“What would you know?” Callum says, because of course.  _ Of course. _

“Thats fair,” Ben says. He hates the way his heart thumps when Callum’s mouth twitches. It’s been three years, three years and all it’s taken is three minutes. Three minutes for all those feelings he’s been burying to come rushing back to the surface, crashing over him like a breaking wave, dragging him away from all he’s come to know. 

He loves him so desperately he burns with it.

“How, uh–,” Ben says when he gets no response. Callum tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Ben has never seen his hair like this, so unruly and free. He looks so good, so good and it hurts. “How are you?”

“You don’t have pretend like you care,” Callum mutters. Ben just purses his lips and waits for Callum to avert his eyes. The water is still running, splashing up and dotting the sink. “I ain’t bothered.” 

“I’m not pretending, Callum.” 

And this time all he gets is a huff of disbelief.

Then Callum is beside him, pumping soap into his palms and foaming them up. His suit is dark, not quite black and not quite blue, gold, fragile cufflinks and a pink tie. 

“The pink is a nice touch,” Ben says, brave, nodding to Callum’s suit. 

“Thought I’d try something new.” 

“It looks good.”

“Oh, cheers.”

They stand in silence, the moonlight sinking through the misted window and shining down on them. Suddenly, it feels like time can’t touch them, not the past, nor the present, with the stars littering the sky outside and the sun nowhere to be seen.

That is, until, Callum’s phone starts to ring. 

“Uh, I better get going. It was nice seeing you,” he says, offhand as stalks towards the door, away from Ben, and swings it open with intent. 

“Ben?”

Ben stops what he’s doing and stops, recentres himself, wheels around at his name, beautiful on Callum’s tongue. 

“Yeah?” He can hear his own breath escaping in ragged little pants, trying to keep up with his heart.

“You look good, too,” Callum says finally.

And Ben wants to reply, more than anything. But even more than that, he wants to drag Callum into a corner of the club and he wants to sit there with a bottle of wine, blazers discarded, top buttons lazily undone and he wants to say  _ talk to me, no, scream at me, shout, tell me about your life, about how you can’t sleep without me by your side at night, tell me you hate me _ . He wants nothing more than to sit down and know everything, the good and the bad and everything in between, because he’s always wanted it all from Callum, despite everything, that never changed. It’s almost frightening how after five minutes of nothing but bare civility that so obviously hasn’t changed.

Ben barely gets a chance to say goodbye before the doors opening again and he’s gone. 

Nearly three years since they’ve seen each other in person, and he’s gone, as quiet as a whisper, and dangerous as thunder. Ben swallows, stares down at his shoes, and tries not to think about it too much.

_ What if I'm down? What if I'm out? What if I'm someone you won't talk about? _

**Jay [11:35pm]** _ how’s the party going? bareable???  _

Ben thumbs at the side of his phone. He’s still in the bathroom. 

Each time he breathes the phantom scent of Callum’s cologne hits, and the goosebumps that break out across the back of his neck make him feel queasy.

_**Ben:** absolutely not _

_**Jay:** that’s a shock _

_**Ben:** callum is here _

_**Jay:** callum ??? shit mate. that really is a shock. don’t do anything stupid  _

_**Ben:** i can’t make promises like that jay, you know me  _

There’s no response to that. With a sigh, he pushes back out into the darkness of the club, the party still in full swing, new faces haunting his eyes each time he fixes his gaze somewhere new. Sam is at the bar frowning down at his phone.

“You better hope the wind doesn’t change,” Ben says. 

“Where did you get to? Thought you’d done a runner,” Sam says, ignoring Ben’s attempt to deflect and handing him a beer. 

“Oh uh, I saw an old mate, was just, y’know, catching up.”

“Oh, I bet that was nice.”

“Yeah. It really was.”

Across the room, under the dark strobe lights of this pretentious club, Ben sees him again, suit jacket discarded now, the top buttons of his white shirt undone, a fresh drink in hand. He looks in his element, charming and approachable,  _ happy. _

He looks towards the bar, but his eyes find Ben’s own instead. Ben tips back the remainder of his bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Callum watches silently.

“We probably should get going,” Ben says, but Sam has already left his side, dragged away by a group of rowdy lads. It’s just Ben, standing alone at the bar, pinned in place. 

Callum begins to push forward through the crowd, out of the side door and gone in a whisper.

It’s a truly freezing London night. The streets are grimy and slick, but they’re quiet, at least. Ben feels like the raw end of a pulse right now, too drunk for the amount of work his brain is trying to do. He hasn’t seen Sam in hours, but it’s not unusual, he’s got more mates than Ben has dodgy contacts. As he rounds the corner, slinks down the alley at the side of the club, it’s to a deer-in-the-headlights expression, wide and unblinking ocean-blue eyes; eyes that Ben would recognise anywhere.  _ Callum _ .

“Are you following me?” Ben muses, but the joke falls flat and thin between them. He watches Callum bring his hand to his face, inhaling sharply, tucking his face away to exhale. In the dark, his eyes look wet, glistening like stars. 

Ben flicks his gaze up. Callum hasn’t moved yet, eyes still watching Ben intently. And then he smiles, close-mouthed. It’s so tiny Ben hardly notices it, but there’s that telltale glint in his eyes, that quirk of lips that Ben could pick up from a mile off, it makes everything around them go quiet. There’s something still, even now, even after all this time, that makes Ben’s fingers twitch, seeing that smile. 

It still doesn’t ease up the weight of hurt deep in his heart, though.

Ben’s chest aches with it, and he gives an empty smile back, fingers curling in on themselves, nails digging into his palms. He swallows and looks away as a lone care sweeps part, Callum’s gaze lingering just for a moment. Ben doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know where to go from here. 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for my taxi,” Callum says. He shifts, tucks his suit jacket closer around himself, and takes a slow, shaky breath. “Is that okay with you?” 

He knows Callum’s little ticks, knows when he’s thinking of something to say, something to avoid saying. He keeps fiddling with his watch, clasping and unclasping it over and over, eyes drifting over each passing car and body. The familiarity of it has Ben’s knees weak, like he might just sink into himself right here and now to avoid whatever blow Callum will inevitably gift him with once he’s done with his false pondering. 

“I uh-I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” Callum continues, eyes low and shy. There it is. “Had no idea you knew the lad.” 

“Does it matter that I am?” Ben says. Of course it matters, he knows that. They both know that. “He’s um, he’s a mate of Sam’s.”

“Right,” Callum shrugs. “Just wasn’t expecting it, y’know. You’ve been avoiding me for years.”

“I’ve avoided you,” Ben says, faster than he means to. Callum glances at him, unconvinced. “The one time I did see you, you were coming out of Stuart’s flat, a few months back,” he confesses. “You just turned and walked away. And I know you saw me, too.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Callum hisses, jaw twitching. “What, Ben? You’re upset I didn’t come over and say hello to you and your new boyfriend? Introduce myself? Oh, hi, I’m Callum, _the one that got away.”_

“No,” Ben says flatly. “I didn’t expect anything.”

Callum rolls his eyes and looks away. They fall back into a tense silence, fiddling with their cufflinks and their watches and shifting their weight. It’s late but the party is still thriving inside. Outside, it smells like smoke and heavy hearts and  _ too much _ . It smells like Callum and everything Ben’s been avoiding for years. 

“What do you want, Ben?” Callum asks, as if it’s that simple. “I can just go,” he says, downbeat in a way he never is, when Ben doesn’t respond, and he’s still staring down at his shoes like they’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “I’ll just walk it.” 

There was a time when Ben couldn’t watch Callum leave a room without wanting to pull him right back through the door again, a time when a minute without him felt like far too long. Now they’ve standing here as strangers in perfect suits, unable to look each other in the eye, unable to be in the same space as each other without wanting to rip his heart out and give it to Callum. 

_ (Well, he would, if his heart had ever been his own.)  _

“You don’t have to,” Ben says, awkward in a way he never is. They’re both so stilted, and he wonders if it’s because they’re both lying. Because what Callum really meant to say was  _ can I stay? _ and Ben was meant to say  _ yes, please do. _

“Taxi’s late anyway,” Callum says. “Probably been nabbed by a bunch of uni students.” 

_ Please don’t go. Please don’t leave. Please let me look at you for just a second longer before I forget all the details of your face.  _

“Look I’ll—um, I’ll see you around, maybe?”

Callum lingers for a moment, and this is the time Ben should nod curtly, escape the alleyway and the hammering of his heart. He should smile politely and say  _ have a good night, _ and probably,  _ a good life _ . But there’s a lot of things Ben should, should’ve done; he should never have let Callum walk out of his life, should never have let his own insecurities take away the person who loved him wholly, who he loved right back. 

So  _ fuck it, _ he thinks, and opens his mouth.

“No, don’t go. Can we go some? To talk? Just half an hour, please?” 

His phone is burning a hole in his pocket,  _ Jay, Lola, Sam, Sam, Sam. _ In the back of the cab, dark city lights slip through the windows intermittently, and Ben has to keep his hands between his thighs to stop them from shaking. Callum’s hunched over in his seat, eyes glued to the window, his feet, anywhere but on Ben. 

The block of apartments they pull up in front of isn’t what he’d expected from Callum. It’s in a dark, quiet part of the city, a highrise building with glistening windows, floor to ceiling. 

Heat crawls slow and steady up Ben’s neck as he gazes up at the dimly lit windows. He wonders how many times Callum has been close without him knowing. How many times they’ve been tucked in this city together, just a few underground stops away, unbeknownst to Ben only. The flush on his neck pulses up into his cheeks, another dull kick of frustration, because he promised himself he’d never see Callum again, promised them both he’d let him go. 

It’s drizzling, when they finally manage to slip out onto the street, rain dotting their cheeks and the tops of their shoulders. There’s a moment of pause that almost stretches too long, a moment in which Ben almost runs, but then Callum door unlatches the apartment doors and he has to go in, hands still shaking as he reaches for the handle.

The apartment feels barely lived in, wardrobe empty save for a few shirts, aftershave and a charger on the nightstand. Walls bare. The bed is small, a measly double with rumpled sheets, unmade. 

“You live here?” Ben says slowly, trying to piece it together.

“Yeah,” Callum shrugs. “I bought it a while ago, had all these plans for doing it up, ain’t ever got round to it, though. Don’t see the point, I suppose.”

“You want a drink?” He says next, brushing past Ben to step into the kitchen. It’s clinical, bright white, not even an old water glass drying on the sink. Ben hates this,  his stomach sinks and twists itself into an ugly mess, and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking in deep, shuddery breaths.

Callum returns with two bottles in hand, passes one to Ben. It’s cool to the touch, Ben’s thankful, he needs something to ground him. “Cheers.” 

Callum brushes past him again, to the sliding door that opens to a marble balcony, so close that Ben can feel his warmth, can smell that achingly familiar aftershave on him.

He stands frozen, pulse beating in the tips of his fingers. Callum’s been wearing that cologne for years, and the memory of it is so strong that Ben has to close his eyes for a moment. 

This is the last place Ben expected to end up tonight. God, he never thought he’d see Callum again. Not like this, at least. It’s mind-bending just looking at his silhouette. Ben feels it again, that impending weight, that fuzz that lingers between being asleep and awake. Things flicker back to him in bits and pieces. The room in Callum’s flat that had become theirs, the shitty films they’d watched when they both couldn’t sleep, the way Callum had held Ben, kept him alive when Callum was the only thing worth living for, the stormy fights and broken promises, the soft mornings, the Christmas market, that night in the streets, broken hearts and false words. 

Here, in this dark, dreary apartment, none of that exists. It’s just them now. Just this once. Just for tonight.

Well don’t just stand there,” Callum says, inviting Ben out on the balcony with him. 

“Where are you working at the moment?” Ben asks, and the small talk is almost unbearable, but it’s all he’s got for now. 

“Police station. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, that’s good,” Ben nods. “Genuinely. I’m happy for you, Cal.” 

“Yeah,” Callum says. “Cheers.” 

They’re still skirting completely around the big stuff, the important stuff. Ben knows it, Callum keeps looking at him like he expects Ben to be the one to break the mould, bring up that cold December night. But he’s not sure he couldn’t bare to hear what Callum has been holding in. 

“I mean, you are happy? Ain’t you?” Ben dares to ask as he looks over at Callum again, at the redness crowding his sleepy eyes, he always has been the most genuine person he’d ever known. 

“Yeah,” Callum says, and then: “I’m getting there.” 

It makes Ben smile, a slight tug of lips that he feels pull right from the corner of his heart. That could be Ben’s one good thing, that Callum was happy. 

“What about you?” Callum asks, after the silence stretched on. 

_ No. I’d only be happy if I was wherever you are.  _ “Doesn’t matter,” he answers quietly.  The streets below are dark and silent, unnaturally so. Ben just stares out into the shadows, up to the foggy sky to search for stars.

“You and uh, _ whatshisname,  _ seem to be getting along well?”

“Yeah,” Ben lies , and it seems to echo in the space between them . “I suppose.” 

“Why am I sensing a but?”

“Well, it’s still new, ain’t it?”  Ben huffs a cold laugh, and it hurts his chest. “He’s alright, nice, good for now.”

“For now?” Callum mocks, eyes raised in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Ben.” 

“I know,” Ben says quietly. He rubs a hand over his face, he hates this, whatever it is that’s sitting heavily between them now. He’s terrified of Callum’s stillness. “He ain’t you, alright? He ain’t you.” 

“That ain’t fair, Ben. you can’t just come here and—” 

“I realise something, a while ago,” Ben interrupts, dismissing all talk of Sam and the false pretence he’s been putting on for months now. Callum almost flinches at the sound of his voice, his drooping eyes alert. There’s a beat, Ben scratching at his jaw, letting out a soft, apprehensive breath. “I never once said I was sorry.”

“Ben,” Callum says, warning.

“No, listen to me,” Ben says, tense as they finally lock eyes. “I never once apologised.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Callum says, and that’s so typical of him. Ben just stares at him for a moment, unconvinced. 

“Callum,” he says tiredly, as he turns to face him once more, Callum’s shoulders tense. “Please let me be sorry.” 

“It’s too late, Ben. All of that is in the past now.” 

“Is it, though?” Ben whirls. “Because look at us, Callum, we’re both here.” 

He gestures to the space between them.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s in the past. It feels like I never moved on,” Ben continues, trembling slightly under the soft kitchen light, he closes his eyes for a moment. “I think about you all the time. It’s been fucking years and I think about you so often it drives me mad.” 

“Yeah, well,” Callum ponders. “I ain’t the same as you, Ben. I’ve got my own life now, and it’s—it’s good.” 

“Right, fair enough,” Ben says, tries to mask the pain in his voice, and he’s being so bloody unfair, he knows he is. But where has fair even got him in life? “Maybe I should just go. This was a mistake”

“Don’t,” Callum begs, wor rushed, breath shallow. “Don’t, because then it’ll be another three years until I see you again, and another two after that. And I’m sick of it Ben, I’m tired of the  _ what-if’s _ and  _ why’s _ .”

Ben stalks closer to Callum, feet moving on their own accord, his eyes are wet. 

“I hurt you so much,” he whispers,  shoulders heaving as he speaks, voice gone tight and croaky. “I hurt you so much and I didn’t even realise it. I’m sorry, Callum. Every day, I’m sorry.” 

“You let me fall in love with you, Ben,” Callum says, wrecked and broken, voice strained. “And I thought it was beautiful. But if you didn’t love me, why did you let me into the things you keep private from everyone else? Why did you go straight for me? Why did you let me be around your family? If you didn't love me, why did you let me spend the entire year falling in love with you?” 

Ben stares at him, blinking slowly as Callum speaks, voice getting louder and louder, rough and shaking like it’s being torn from his throat, now broken apart by hiccuped, hurting sobs, face shiny wet under the moonlight, shoulders shaking with everything that’s pouring out of him. It just hurts, it hurts so much

“Don’t you understand that I never wanted to hurt you?” Ben says, paper-thin, and it’s poor, he knows that. “But I couldn’t keep thing separate, Callum. I couldn’t keep—keep loving you and protecting my—”

“Your Dad, I know!” Callum bursts. “Cut the bullshit, Ben! I just wanted you, family baggage and all, that wasn’t enough. You knew how much I loved you, how much I needed you, but you just let me walk out of your life. Pushed me, even.”

“I really wish things, could’ve been different Callum, I do—” 

“Listen to yourself,” Callum breathes, shaking his head. “You don’t fucking get it, do you? I needed you. God Ben, where were you when I needed you? I didn’t want to leave, I just wanted you. Why couldn’t you see that?”

It’s too much, it’s all too much. There’s heat burning behind his eyes, his fingers shaking are shaking with the weight of the world. “Don’t be—”

“Don’t be what? What, Ben? Sad? Angry? Hurt?” 

“I’m standing here, trying to fucking apologise to you, because I know I should have tried harder,” Ben starts. “You’re right. I should have been there for you. I shouldn’t of let you go, but I did, I did because I’m a coward and I’m weak and I fucking loved you. Okay? I’m sorry. I’ll tell you I’m sorry until my gums bleed, Callum. But please don’t stand there and tell me it was easy for me, letting you go, because it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

The tracks on Callum’s face shine under the moonlight, and Ben can feel the tickle of his own tears on his chin, leaking down and dropping onto the front of his suit. It’s so constricting, all the sudden, being on this boxy balcony, in these tight clothes, face to face with the man he never thought he’d get to see again.

“I’m sorry too,” Callum says, and his voice hiccups, fingers wrung together. “There’s no way I could ever understand what you went through that Christmas, or all the years before that, and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you if you were okay as often as I should have, sorry that I just let you drift away without holding on. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you until it was too late. But God, Ben, you were my world, I’d of done anything for you. Gone anywhere with you. Why couldn’t you have just let me?” 

“I know it’s no excuse, but I was scared,” Ben says, and it’s so quiet now, like a single sound could wake the word, “it weren’t you, you know that, Callum. You didn’t do anything, and you didn’t not do anything. I just—I panicked, you said you loved me and I panicked. I panicked because you were, I was scared of falling in love. Of giving someone else my heart, someone as good and gentle as you.” 

Callum shakes his head, sniffs. 

“It’s not enough,” he says, “it’s not good enough, Ben. I loved you, I loved you so much, and for the first time in my life I thought I’d finally found where I belonged, and then you took everything I’d grown to know, to love, away from me, in one night.” 

Ben doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t dare. He just stalks backwards, lets his head rest against the cool glass of the sliding doors. 

“You wanted it, too, didn’t you?” Callum asks suddenly, following him until they are inches away from one another, “Us? A family, a home? All of it?” 

“Of course I wanted it,” Ben says quietly, “of course I did.”

_ I still do. _

“You broke my heart, Ben.”

“I broke my own, too.”

His eyes feel swollen and wrecked, aching from how much he’s crying, how tightly he’s squeezing them shut. That ache settles in his forehead too, a heavyweight that runs down the bridge of his nose and along the tops of his cheeks, red and irritated. 

Ben steels himself for his next words, closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the world fall away.

“I love you, Callum. I love you so much.” 

Three cars go past before either of them speaks again. Ben fights not to launch himself in front of one of them. 

“Please, Ben—” 

“I need you to know, Callum, because I didn’t tell you back then and it ruined everything. And this is me, well, trying to fix it.”

“I ain’t so sure it can be fixed.”

“Can’t it?”

“We’re different people now, Ben. We live different lives.” 

“So? I’d throw everything out the fucking window if it meant I could be with you, love you, just one more time.”

_ Just for tonight. Just for now. _

Ben stalks forward and knocks their mouths together. 

There are still things, even now, especially now, that he wishes he’d done differently. There are still things that keep him up at night.

But this, Ben can do. This is what he knows.

It’s natural for him to touch fervent along Callum’s face, to dip a hand into his hair, to tug a little because it always makes Callum’s eyes go glassy and his cheeks go pink, makes his lips gloss red and so wet that Ben is helpless to swipe a thumb over them. 

And Ben is so weak for him, would do anything for him despite it all, can do nothing but crawl up Callum’s body and crack himself open, pour out all his vulnerabilities over the sheets, let himself _fall-fall-fall,_ he knows Callum will be there to catch him, even now. 

All breath leaves his chest as he settles a hand in Callum’s hair, the other now on the headboard of Callum’s rickety bed, and even that in itself brings tears to his eyes, just feeling the softness of his hair again, being able to touch him like this. Callum holds so tightly to him, just takes it all as Callum fucks his hips forward, head thrown back. It’s fervent and hot, his mouth still tingling from how firmly they kissed each other, the way he backed Ben against the wall only to be thrown down into the sheets.

“God,” Ben chokes, twisting his fingers in Callum’s hair to make him moan, and he does, somewhere deep in his chest. “I’ve missed you so much. So much.”

Callum’s cheeks are wet, tears drying, eyes wide and sure, lip bitten redraw between his teeth, and he’s so fucking beautiful that Ben comes before he can catch himself, back bowing with the force of it, Callum’s eyes fluttering closed, hands tight on Ben’s thighs. Ben is boneless when he falls back into the sheets, lax and loopy when Callum crawls over him and licks into his mouth, both of them so short of breath that they rasp between each slide of their lips. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispers, almost a sob, but Callum reaches down, catched it and swallows it up with his tongue.

“Ssh, ssh,” Callum breathes, “I know. It’s okay.”

“Okay?” Ben says, because he has to know. Callum’s face is wet, still, turned into the sheets as he breathes.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing thickly, and Ben leans up to kiss his temple, over his jaw. He can’t stop, he doesn’t want to stop. He’s too scared of what’s going to happen if they stop. “Ben.”

“I love you,” Ben says. “I never stopped.” 

“Yeah, I love you too.” 

As the quiet settles around them, breaths slowing, limbs like honey, Benn tries to ignore the weight in his chest. Callum is blinking at him sleepily, and it’s so quiet in the tiny room. He can hear Callum’s heartbeat, but maybe it’s just his own pulse. Things are melting together. He wants to cry so suddenly the feeling shakes him. 

“Am I going ever to see you again?”

**Author's Note:**

> @ dingletragedy on tumblr/twitter


End file.
